


Short Stories: Bodies and Minds

by Viking_woman



Series: Tales of the Inquisition: Iwyn Lavellan Canon [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: - maybe?, Anal Fingering, Begging, Canon Disabled Character, Collars, Control, Dom Lavellan, Dom Solas, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Future, Hand Jobs, Happiness and marriage, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Love, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Ownership Kink, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Service Submission, Service Top, Solas is a switch, Spanking, Sub Solas, The Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus - implied, ballgag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-05-14 23:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14779464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/pseuds/Viking_woman
Summary: New: Chapter 4 - WordlessCollection of drabbles and short stories about my inquisitor Iwyn Lavellan. This is not a full story, but glimpses and vignettes from her time after reuniting with Solas after Trespasser. These ones are the more explicit sexual/kinky ones.All stories are NSFW, but not all tags apply to all chapters.Posted in somewhat chronological order, not the order written. The timeline is not vital, but note that most of these assumes years of loving relationships.Each piece can be read on its own. Feel free to browse through :)





	1. Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas needs to accept he is loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter: Sub Solas, Dom Lavellan, Praise Kink, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub 
> 
> Prompt written for kinktober 2017 - body worship. Originally published 9/29/2017

“Are you comfortable?” she asks.

“ _Vhenan_. I asked you to tie me up. I do not need to be… comfortable.”

Solas flexes his arms, muscles tensing, but he is stuck. The soft blue rope firmly ties his hands to the headboard, his arms splayed wide. His legs are tied to the opposite end of the bed, leaving him spread out and held in place.

“I want you to be. Who knows how long you will be stuck here?”

She tests the ropes at his wrist again, and kisses the palm of his hand. She sucks a finger into her mouth, then releases it with wet sound. Solas squirms, but he still can’t move.

“Your hands are so pretty,  _ma lath_ ,” she says.

She checks the other hand, and gives it the same treatment.

“I have never seen fingers as beautiful as yours.”

“They’re nothing special.” He shakes his head.

She slides to sit across his chest, looking down at his flushed face. She traces a finger across his cheek.

“A pretty blush on a pretty face.” She smiles and kiss his cheek, his nose. “I love everything about you,  _vhenan_.” She kisses his lips. “Your lips are so pink and soft and pretty.”

“I am not… You do not need to – “ she interrupts him with a finger pressed between their lips. She keeps it there when she leans back.

“Ah. That is not your choice. Just be quiet now. Or do I need to gag you?”

Solas swallows, and his eyes grow distant for a moment.

“I do not believe so,” he says, hoarse. He looks like he would not oppose it, though, and she files that away for another time.

“Good.”

She smiles and moves down his torso, kissing his skin as she moves, dipping her tongue into his belly button. His hips move beneath her, his body straining and bucking, his arms and legs pulling against the restraints. She looks at him with shining eyes and sits between his legs, her own tucked beneath her.

Her eyes move to his cock, so hard already, the head peeking through the hood. She nuzzles her cheek against it, and let her tongue dart out to taste him. She offers no real friction, just a light, revenant touch.

She pushes her face against his sack. “I love your balls, Solas. They are perfect.” She sucks one, then his whole sack, into her mouth. Solas groans, but no real words escape him.

She alternates then, sucking and licking everywhere. His balls, his inner thigh, his cock. With hooded eyes she look up at him.

“I have never seen a cock so large and beautiful as yours. It is such a delight to have it in my mouth.” Her lips move against his skin.

“Thank you. Please,  _vhenan_ ,” he says, desperate.  He is trashing, his cock leaking, his hips bucking.

She smiles, moves her hand to his cock and pumps, once, twice. He pulls on the ropes, and she thinks they might break, but they hold, leaving him eager and panting.

“Gorgeous,” she says, and she takes him in her mouth again, and this time she sucks, moving her mouth and her hand together.

Solas groans and screams and then he comes, and she keeps gently sucking greedily, drinking his spend, until he is done and she gently let his spent cock fall from her mouth.

“Delicious.” She licks her lips. Solas whimpers.

She crawls up his body until her knees are resting on each side of his face, her wet sex hovering about him.

“Let me see if your tongue is as worthy of praise.


	2. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sols gets taken care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 4/27/2018
> 
> For this chapter: sub solas, light restraints, anal fingering, hand job

She runs her hand across his broad back, down his arm, to where his wrists are tied together. She wiggles her fingers under the cords.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes,” Solas replies, a secret smile into the mattress.

Her hand slides up his other arm, and then she sits back. She already misses his skin, the warm connection between them. She wants to sink into him, she wants to cover him until she does not know where he begins and she ends.

She leans forward, her lips seeking his skin, kissing the freckles on his shoulders. They are taut and pulled back and wonderful. Her teeth scrape against his shoulder blades, and he groans.

“You are beautiful,” she says.

Her heart swells with love as her tongue draw patterns down his spine. She kisses the palms of his hands and she sucks a long finger into her mouth.

“ _Vhenan_ …”

His voice is ragged, already halfway undone for her.

She moves herself further back, until her body is off his thighs and her hand rests on the globe of his ass. She squeezes, and he spreads his legs. She loves how easy his trust is, how he is spread out before her. She squeezes again, loving the flex of the muscle beneath her hand.

She gently grips his sack, caressing his balls, rolling her thumb over the soft skin. She bends and she kisses his hips, his ass, the crease where his legs begins.

He moans. He lifts his hips against her, and she rewards him with a few quick strokes of his hard cock. It is a wonder how much he needs this, how much he lets himself go, how the world narrows to just this room, to the two of them, in their bed.

She lets go of him and she dips her hand in the bowl of oil beside the bed. It drips off her middle finger, staining the bedsheets. She doesn’t care.

Her hand push between his cheeks, and her finger finds his entrance.

She pauses. She waits.

A question and a tease.

“Please, _vhenan_ , please,” he moans, and he tries to move back against her, but he has no real leverage like this, his arms flexing against his bonds.

His eagerness is a happy pulse beneath her skin, a joy that fills her chest.

She pushes one finger into his warmth, she revels in the sounds he makes in return. In, and out again. Slowly. In and out. He trashes and she watches, she is almost still, her simple movement causing him to fall apart.

She adds another finger, and she moves her hand a little faster, pressing inside the softness of him.

She withdraws, and his words are mumbled into the bed now, pleading and unclear.

She gathers more oil in her hand, and when she returns she fills him, three fingers, crooked and pushing and pumping fast inside of him. Her own breath is ragged, her clit swollen and throbbing between her legs.

She pays it no attention to her own arousal. Her focus is on him, on every movement he makes, on the friction he seeks, rutting into the mattress. The begging sounds he makes. The endearments she can not hold back.

“ _Ma lath_ , you are so lovely like this. Mine. My love.”

He jerks and shakes and moans.

She pulls her fingers out, and slides her hand beneath him, gripping his cock, snug against the bed. She pumps once, twice, thrice, and he spills himself into her hand, slick and sticky and messy, her name on his lips.

She wipes her hand. She undoes the cord around his wrists. She kisses his back again. She pushes him gently until he turns. She cleans him too, and she throws the rag on the floor.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he says, barely audible. “I should… ah… I can…”

Her reaches for her, his arms around her. He is slow and boneless, half aware, and fully sated.

“Ssshhhh, _ma lath_. Tomorrow.” His happiness and surrender are enough for now, more beautiful than the stars in the heavens.

They lie close, in their own bed, past the midnight hour.

His lips are soft against hers.


	3. Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Iwyn enjoy some time in the fade. He takes such good care of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter: oral, begging, praise kink, dom / sub, ownership kink, service submission, public sex.
> 
> Written for @submissivesolas on tumblr. Originally published 7/27/2017

There are misty tendrils of nothingness around her, as she blinks they disappear, dissolving when the scenery takes form around her. She is standing in front of a set of golden doors, faint music coming from the somewhere beyond it. The décor is outrageous and elaborate, the Fade shaped to look like an opulent palace.

She looks down at herself, she is wearing a deep green dress, her skirt falling softly around her. The bodice is covered with small gemstones, flashing green in the soft light. The remnant of her left arm is covered with a leather pauldron, Inquisition logo boldly emblazoned on it. Every detail taken care of, down to her high-heeled satin shoes.

She turns to Solas, who has been standing silently behind her. She was never in doubt that he was there, this was his idea to begin with. More than that, she just knows where he is now, his presence a buzz under her skin, a quiet in her bones.

She takes a moment to take him in, standing tall and still. He is shirtless, and around his neck is black leather collar, closed with a silver clasp. He is wearing a pair of worn linen pants, and she almost laughs. Black silk pants were what she expected, but of course he chose differently.

Her eyes are drawn back to the collar around his neck, and she can’t help but reach up and run her fingers over it, lingering at the buckle. He licks his lips.

“Solas,” she says. She slides her fingers back over the collar, the leather smooth and warm, then dips them into the hollow of his throat.

“I am yours, Inquisitor,” he answers, eyes downcast.

 “Should there not be a nametag to show that?” One eyebrow lifts in question, as she trails her hand down his chest.

“Of course,” he says with a half-smile, and there it is. A delicate silver tag, resting right where her fingers were a moment ago. It is in the shape of the inquisition sun and sword. Her name is inscribed in flowing script across it.

Her lips lift in a gentle smile of her own. The fade still feels strange and confusing at times, but she also feels at home here now, where his power rolls endlessly like waves in the ocean, where everything changes at his will. Or hers, should she ask.  

“Beautiful. You are so good, _ma lath._ ” She admits the truth of it to herself. He looks good, perfect.

Solas breathes in, sharply, and she resists telling him how good he is, again. Later, she thinks, later. His reaction to approval, to love, is always fascinating, and she wonders if it a new thing, born from his lonely longing, the way he still seems surprised by her forgiveness. Or maybe his need runs deeper, older, like a hidden river. Has he never in thousands of years, been loved, been cherished, for just being him? She desperately wants to shield him from his past, to love him so fiercely he forgets he has ever been unloved.

She turns to push the doors open, but she pauses, turning back to Solas. This was his idea. _I have an idea_ , he had said, after they had attended one of Empress Celene’s balls, and he had explained. She wants to do her best to make him happy. _I want them to look at me,_ he had said at the end, _knowing I belong to you. Doing your every wish._ She had found the notion appealing, and now he stands there, willing and eager and needy, just for her. She thinks she will do just fine.

She moves closer, and he shudders when she leans so close her lips graze his ear, lifting herself even taller than her heels.

“Ready?”

He nods, and she can’t resist pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, and then she steps back, runs her eyes over him. She lifts her hand and crooks her finger, motioning for him to follow her. She turns and opens the golden doors, pushing the elegant golden herons serving as handles.

The room beyond is a large ball room, lit by chandeliers, the light reflecting in gilded corbels along the wall.  Numerous guests in silk and velvet occupy the room, the murmur of their voices heard over the music.

The dance floor too is filled with people in colorful gowns, twirling in complex patterns. Beyond them, the pillars turn to golden trees, then leaves of red and orange until they evaporate into the mist. 

She drifts around the room, among the humans, elves, even some towering qunari. She is approached and asked about the Inquisition, their continuing working, nothing she hasn’t talked about before. She feels Solas behind her, moving silently with no words. The others look at him, briefly and appreciatively, and she smiles at the thought that he is there, desirable and _hers_.

Engaged in conversation, she does a half turn, looking at him. He is so near, she wants to reach out and touch. She wants to pull him to her and hide him away, and at the same time she wants to see everyone’s eyes following him. The thrill of it makes her knees weak and her back strong and proud.

“Solas,” she says, “I need a drink.”

He nods, and walks off, silent on bare feet.

She continues discussion, politics and warfare and history. She forgets they are curious spirits, or shades pulled from memory and magic. Solas returns with her drink, a tall glass of champagne. He approaches her slowly, the light catching at the emblem at his throat. He pauses, and then gracefully presents her with the drink. She licks her lips and takes the glass.

“Thank you. You take such good care of me.” she murmurs, and she can see him swallow, his throat working beneath the leather collar. She can’t resist, she runs her hand across his shoulder, down past his collarbone. “You are all I need.” She loves praising him like this, where he cannot object.  

She continues to move around the room, Solas a constant shadow. She is surprised how much she likes the idea of the eyes on him. She is already slick with want. She wonders if she should make him crawl, and if he would like to. The thought is more compelling than she imagined, and decides that she should ask him later, for next time.

Later, her shoes feel uncomfortable, and she moves to a side room. Bookcases line the walls, interspersed with hunting trophies and displays of both effective and ornate weaponry. A group of comfortable chairs stand by the fireplace. She sits in the nearest one.

“Fix my feet,” she says, and she lifts one leg slightly, extending it towards Solas.

He drops to his knees immediately, and slowly pulls her shoes off, first one, then the other. His hands grasp her right foot, and he begins to massage the sole, pushing his fingers gently into the tender flesh.

“So skilled.” She sighs in contentment, and a flush creeps into Solas' cheeks. She could look at him like this forever.

A lady in a brilliant red dress moves to sit next to her, making idle chit chat.

Solas moves to her other foot, not missing a beat, and she idly reaches out to run her hand over his scalp, up his ear. He is breathing rapidly through his nose, his shoulders rising with the motion. Almost panting. She burns for him, and she moves her legs apart a little, then continues the conversation. Solas' hands run up her left calf, manipulating her tired muscles.

She extends her other leg, pushing it between his legs. She presses the bridge of her foot against his balls, then draws her toes along his hardness. This elicits a groan, but Solas continues his work.

Iwyn ceases conversation with the chatty woman in the other chair, and then she levels a hard stare at her. The woman gives a small smirk and bids her farewell.

She leans back, letting out a deep sigh. His hands work on her other leg, she loves his dedication. She feels hot all over. She spreads her legs further, invitingly. Solas' hands come to rest on both her knees, pushing her skirt aside. He sits motionless between her legs for a time, the rise of his chest the only movement. She does nothing, and they are paused there, the moment suspended in the amber glow of the fireplace.

“Please,” he says at last.

She leans forward and grips his chin, tilting his head up.  She doesn’t answer yet.

“Please, Inquisitor,” he says again.

 “You did so well working on my feet and legs.” She feels relaxed and turned on beyond measure. “What do you beg for now? Tell me.”

“Let me pleasure you. Taste you.  Please.” His voice is thin, almost a whine.

She smiles then. “Since you ask so nicely, you may. But put your hands behind your back and keep them there.”

Solas complies, his hands resting against each other at his back.

She settles back in the chair, and Solas looks up at her, pupils blown wide. Her eyes roam over him, the flush across his chest, the wet spot on his pants, where the tip of his erection is pressed against the fabric.

She brushes her hand down his face, down his throat, where she hooks her fingers in his collar and tugs. He scrambles forward and buries his head between her thighs.

He licks gently first, teasing her folds, then finds her clit and circles it. He adds pressure by flattening his tongue, then he licks lower, burying it in her sex. He moans at her taste.

She rests her hand on the armrest, relaxed, then arches her back when he sucks hard. She can’t hold back a moan of her own, and he eases back to a light teasing. Someone looks at them through the door, and she meets their eyes. Her mouth opens in pleasure as Solas continues, and still she keeps her eyes fixed on the stranger. They lower their gaze and disappear.

All that is left of the room now is the chair, and the fireplace, and the doorway. Everything else is muted and soft, like a pillow, and they sink into it, plush and warm.

She clutches the armrest and lifts her hips, grinding her cunt into Solas' face. He keeps pushing forward, shoulders and neck straining, yet he fixes his hands where she told him to. His focus on his task is unreserved, and soon she is writhing and gasping and coming, riding her orgasm out against him.

Solas leans back, a sight smirk on his lips, his lower face glistening. Then he quickly drops his eyes, before she has had time to collect herself.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” he says, before she can correct him. 

She sighs, her body afloat in a haze of pleasure.

“You are so wonderful, Solas,” she says, and he shudders. “Come here.” She tugs on his collar until he halfway across her body, and she can kiss him easily, hungry. They fall back on the wide bed. The room is made of stars, but it is not enough.

“Wait,” she says, and he lifts his head up, meeting her eyes.  “ _Ma lath_ , I want to feel you, the real you. Can I?”

“Of course,” he smiles, and he simply kisses her lightly, and then they are back in their bed in Skyhold, bodies entwined. His erection is pushed against her, and she can feel her own slickness between her legs.

“Thank you,” she says. “You were… something else. Are you okay?”

“Yes. You were perfect. It was perfect, _vhenan_. Thank _you_.”

She presses a kiss to his jaw, his mouth. “ _Ar ma lath_ , Solas.” Then she grins. “Now fuck me, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he simply twists his hips and then he enters her in one deep stroke. She roams her hand over his broad shoulders, down his back. She can feel every inch of his body next to hers, as he buries his head in her shoulder and holds still inside her. His arms envelop her, crushing them together.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he gasps, desperate.

“I’ve got you, Solas, I’ve got you. We have each other, always.” They both need the reminder, at times.  That they are here, together.

They move, slowly, the feel of him inside her exquisite. Their pace increases, and then there is only sensation left, the sounds of their breathing, the slide of skin. They complete each other, two bodies, two beings, real and true. Real like the furs on their bed, the stones beneath them, the dawn outside. Real like the blinding sun of a new day.


	4. Wordless - NEW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published: 7/19/2018
> 
> tags for this chapter: dom/sub, ballgag, orgasm control/delay, oral

The package had arrived earlier in the day, full of colorful and sticky sweets, shipped from Minrathous at a probably great cost. The box also held a Tevinter children’s book, _The Littlest Mage – A Read-Along Book On Magical Theory_ , causing Solas to stiffen as he translated the title, and two heavy tomes making his eyes to spark with interest. Nestled in the corner had been a small box with a cryptic message scrawled on top – _open without the kids_. The boys had been tearing into the candy, and not even cared when Iwyn slipped it into her pocket and then onto her desk.

Now, Elohir and Rhuwen are sleeping soundly, and she remembers the mysterious box. Solas is reading one of the books Dorian sent, alternately shaking his head, smiling, and frowning. She sits next to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and opens the box.

Inside of it is a card with Dorian’s handwriting – _dear Iwyn, in case you get tired of listening to him_. Beneath it, in Bull’s neater and bigger writing – _it works well on Dorian. Have fun!_

“ _Vhenan_.”

She hands the card to Solas and shows him the box.

He scoffs. “I am not sure how I feel about our friends sending us such an item.”

“I… don’t think I know what it is for.” Iwyn holds up the item, freeing it from the blue silk it rests in. It is a ball, made of leather, with two straps attached. A buckle made of fine silver connects them.

“It is a gag. It is meant to restrict the sounds the wearer makes. During sex.” Solas sounds calm, and watches her, and the gag, curiously. A slight blush marks his cheeks. He closes his book, and he puts it away.

“I see,” she says, but she is unsure of the appeal. She likes the sounds he makes, she likes to hear him beg. “And it’s not something you’re opposed to, I assume?” He has obviously tried this before, but it does not bother her. It sparks her curiosity, and she wonders it was him or his partner wearing a gag.

“With the right partner, it can be very interesting.” He smirks, and he kisses her hand, still wrapped around the soft leather.

“I see,” she repeats. “And who might that partner be?”

He turns and kisses her, soft and then more fervently. Heat settles between her legs, and she opens her mouth for him, hot and easy.

“You’d like me to gag you, _ma lath_?”

“Yes. You do know how I enjoy being at your mercy.” His blush travels from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, betraying his confidence. “If you would, it is – that is, if you… _vhenan_.”

“Of course I will.”

The honesty of his desire excites her. In his sudden eagerness, he has forgotten his book and his annoyance with their friends’ presumptions. He lets her see all of him, and she loves him.

She kisses him briefly, then she pulls back. She crosses her legs.

“Undress, then.”

He rises, and he removes his clothes, hanging them over the end of their bed. She stays where she is, enjoying the sight of him as he moves with his own grace.

When he is done, she walks to him, gag in hand.

“I can’t reach,” she says. She has no desire to stand on her toes.

Solas drops to his knees.

“Open up.” With the gag in her fist, she traces his bottom lip, and his mouth fall open. The sharp jolt of pleasure is surprising, and she licks her own lips as she pushes her thumb into his mouth. Then back out. Her eyes lock with his, and she lifts the gag to his mouth, but she stops and pulls it back.

“Wait - how will you tell me if I do something you don’t like?”

He looks unconcerned, but he smiles, his gaze tender. Her heart expands, filling her whole chest.

“The traditional way is a bit of magic – how about this?” Three blue lights appear above his head, accompanied by a chime.

“Good.” She nods. The sound fades and the lights are gone. “Anything else?”

Solas shakes his head. “The spell is exceedingly simple. Now, I believe you were –“ She cuts him off, pushing the gag against his mouth in a flash, pushing it all the way in when his lips part in surprise, or in anticipation. She fiddles with the buckle, but manages. She tries to gauge if it is too tight, but Solas shows no discomfort, he just looks up at her, pupils blown wide.

She steps back and looks at him. She walks behind him, runs her hand over his back. She kisses his shoulder, and circles around to stand in front of him again. He waits for her, on his knees, with his hands at his sides. His pink lips wrapped around the gag, the black leather stark against his pale skin. He is beautiful, his skin is flushed, and his cock is half hard, though she has barely touched him.

She loves to hear his voice, to hear him beg, but now he can’t. She didn’t think it would be so arousing to see him like this, silenced, but her nipples are hard against her shirt, and there is slickness between her legs.

He is waiting for her to tell him to move or stay. Her clit throbs, and her heart races in her chest, desire and lust and love. She is still thrown at times, by the way he trusts her. The way he lets her lets her in, the way he opens up to her. The way he not only allows her control, but the way he wants it. The way he needs it.

Solas, she has found, is a man of many needs.

“Sit on the coach,” she says, when she can trust her voice. “Put your arms behind your back.”

He does. Naked, and wordless. She stands in front of him, and his eyes are like a waiting storm, patient and questioning. Most times, they make love gently or they fuck desperately. Sometimes he asks for something specific, sometimes he is vague. Sometimes she asks to take care of him. But now, she acted, and he is waiting. He has no idea what she will do, and no way to voice his opinion. It thrills her. Looking down at him, his eyes so full of desire, his slow and measured breath through his nose, his lips wrapped around the gag, she knows it thrills him too.

She decides.

She pushes his legs apart, and she sinks to her knees between them. She wants to hear what sounds he will make, how loud he can be like this, how his moans will sound muffled in his throat. This should do.

She licks his cock, from root to tip, and he lets out a stifled groan, his hips bucking.

“Sit still.”

Another lick, and he tries, straining and tensing with effort. She rests her hand on his hip, a gentle pressure to help him.

She looks up at him, she wants to see his face as she takes the head of his cock into her mouth. He looks desperate, moaning, struggling to sit still. Nostrils flared. He is fully hard, and she can already taste his precum. It took so little to get him here, aroused and ready. She bobs her head, sucking in earnest, taking more of him into her mouth.

His sounds are muted, and this is different. Exciting in a way she did not know. The way he moans around the gag, the way he flushes. He noisy, but he has no words. He can’t beg. He might be, but she doesn’t know, all of his words reduced to simple grunts.

It doesn’t take long before she knows he is close. Too close. She pulls her mouth off him and she pinches the inside of his thigh, hard. He lets out a high-pitched noise behind the gag, and she kisses the reddened skin. Then she pinches him again.

“Not yet.”

She stands.

“Not until I say you can.”

He nods.

“Good.”

She takes in the sight of him. His hands behind his back, restrained by only by her words and his own will. His urgent need dripping from him, his chest and cheeks flushed. His mouth forced open around the gag. It looks obscene. It looks good.

Her shirt is rough against her hard nipples, she is too hot, the fabric is too heavy and too much. She undresses. Naked, she touches herself. Slow, deliberate and out of his reach. He keeps his hands behind him, but he whimpers when her fingers make a wet sound against her swollen sex.

She straddles him, her knees on either side of him. She doesn’t touch him. Not yet. Instead, her hand returns between her legs, and she strokes herself, rubbing two fingers across her clit. She moans, and so does Solas, but comes out as a strangled whine. His eyes are dropped, his gaze fixed on where she pleasures herself.

“You look so good like this. So needy. I wonder – I wonder if there is anything you want?”

She writhes against herself, her clit throbbing. Solas lets out more desperate sounds, his hips jerking below her. He might be pleading, begging, wanting, but she doesn’t know, and she doesn’t grant him anything, and then she is coming, her body rigid and her cunt clenching in the air above him, her fingers slick with her own juices.

She collapses against him, her head buried in crook of his neck, her lips tasting his skin. He jerks against her, seeking the friction she suddenly offers. His is hard and urgent against her, and that feels good. She meets his pleading eyes, saying the words that he can’t. Her cunt pulses with the aftershocks of her orgasm as she witnesses his helplessness.

“Not yet.”

“Stay still.”

She wipes the drool off his chin with her hand. His nostrils flare, her scent now marked in his skin. She grips his chin with her hand, and she holds him steady.

“I love how ready you are for me. How hard you are.”

She rolls her hips.

“I’m almost tempted to have you wait. I’d have you sit here, needy and silent, while I tend to other matters. Waiting for me to return.”

His eyes flash with anger – or arousal, and then acceptance, his shoulders relaxing as he exhales. She realizes he would wait, he would stay here for her, a maddening, giddy thought. His eyes on her, waiting for her next word, her next action. He does not see beyond her. He is bare, his pride stripped to the bone, only proud to be hers.

Hers.

“Not today, I think.”

She rolls her hips again, this time letting her wet cunt drag over his cock, teasing him. Rubbing herself against him.

“Today, I’m going to fuck you right away.”

She kisses his lip, her tongue tracing his mouth where it’s stretched around the gag.

She grips his cock – hard, leaking, waiting, and she guides him into her, her cunt stretching around his length. She seats herself in his lap, his cock deep inside of her, so good.  
She loves the way he fills her, the way it feels when she moves, her hand braced on his chest. She is slow, enjoying every inch of him, controlling the pace. She moans, in the way he can’t, and she moves faster. She strains for balance and soon it is not enough.

“Help me, _ma lath._ ”

She runs her hand down his arm, lifting it. He understands, and both his hands are on her hips and he is lifting her, helping her move. Now it is all grunts and sweat and muffled moans and full and wet and good. She tilts a little forward, a little back, and he hits the right spot, and she screams and she comes again, waves of pleasure and Solas’ desperate gaze and she manages to remember, she told him not come. She gasps out some sort of assent, and he comes too, bucking into her, fingers digging into her ass.

She collapses forward, into his chest. Worn and shaky and pleased. He holds her close. His chest is rising and falling below her, deep and broad. Iwyn looks up and Solas lips are still stretched around the gag. She hurries, her hand fumbles with the buckle, but she gets it open, and she pulls the gag out. She runs her thumb over his lips.

“Are you alright?”

He nods. He flexes his jaw, and he smiles, his head falling forward into her. He has not let go of her ass and he is still deep inside of her. She kisses his neck. She strokes his back.

“I hope I… was this what you wanted? I loved it. Was it good?”

He laughs softly, and coughs a little.

“Do you need water, let me – “

She tries to get up, but he holds her tight.

“ _Vhenan_. It was perfect. Stay.”

He tilts them sideways until they both lie on the couch, legs entangled. They stay there, for a while, buried inside each other.


	5. Lanterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwyn and Solas have a romantic dinner at a cafe, many years in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @submissivesolas on tumblr. Originally published 7/23/2017  
> For this chapter: public sex, hand jobs, control, begging

The cafés have strung lanterns in the trees that surround the tables, and everything is bathed in a soft glow. Yellow and green for this one. White and blue for the next one. The night goes on forever. The candle on their table flickers in the gentle breeze, illuminating what is left of their cheese course. He admits the food has been delicious, and the company even more so. The business in Val Royeaux has concluded, and they are discussing the outcome.

Iwyn and Solas are seated next to each other on a bench at the far end of the outdoor area.  Reclined against soft pillows, he can feel her pressed against his legs and hips, the warmth is pleasant in the chill. There is a minstrel playing at the opposite end of the café, but the music reaches them fine, light and relaxing.

“I like this goat one,” Iwyn says, and takes another bite of cheese.

He nods. A quiet happiness washes over him, contentment in the moment, the wine, her scent and the floating lanterns.

She dips her finger into the pot of honey and licks it clean, and his eyes fixate on her lips. Her hand drops to rest on his thigh, anchoring him. 

The waiter stops by, clearing the plates. Iwyn orders a dessert.

“Enough about politics,” she says, “did you have a nice afternoon?”

“Yes, it was very fascinating.” He has spent the afternoon with Vivienne, who they had met for lunch. Despite their disagreements on numerous philosophical points, the First Enchanter is not only intelligent, but a very competent mage. He thinks there are very few like her, in this age. Her skills are one of a kind, precise and strong.

“What did you discuss?” Even after all these years, her curiosity is still there. He loves that, the need for knowledge, the joy learning.

 “Vivienne had come upon some old Chantry texts, from the time of Andraste. It contained some very interesting calculations on how magic siphoned through the veil.”

She slides her hand up his thigh, slipping around to the inside of his leg. Her fingers dance briefly up the front of his pants, and he pauses his telling.

“Go on?” It is both a request for more on the subject of magic, and a question about something very different.

“Of course. I… ah, where was I?” She flashes a grin, the corner of her eyes crinkling. Her hand is back now, her fingers leaving gentle pressure along his length. He hardens beneath them embarrassingly fast. He can feel himself smiling back, and the heat in his stomach has very little to do with what her hand is doing.

“The notes reported on some very precise experiments, and Vivienne had executed ones that mirrors them. Her results were quite intriguing. The veil, of course, feels entirely different to me.”

Her hand is deftly working its way into his breeches, but she keeps her touch light at she slides her hand down his shaft. She lifts an eyebrow in a silent challenge, and he continues.

“I think there some discrepancy between now and that time, one which I did not expect. Based on the strength when it was raised, I think that the polarity of the veil might oscillate, like a resonance or echo of the state of world. It all depended on the accuracy of the calculations.”

He pauses when the waiter appears, but her hand does not.

“Your dessert, sir, ma’am.” The young man places the slice of cake in front of them, a decadent chocolate creation, caramel trapped in delicate layers. Iwyn gives her thanks, and he remembers to nod politely.

“So, did you do math with Viv?” she asks, smiling. Her hand is relentless, moving down to caress his sack, then back up again.

“Ah, just briefly. We mostly deliberated on the results. Her calculations are always correct.”

He takes bite of the cake, and lets out a sound of pleasure when his lips close around the fork. It is almost just about the cake.

“I would like to try some of that,” she says then, pointedly.

“Of course, _vhenan_ ” and he knows he is about to bring his own ruin, as he picks up a piece with his thumb and index finger. Her eyes sparkle as he pushes it in her mouth, her tongue swirling around his fingers. It is a devastation he will gladly bring on himself.

“This is good,” she exclaims. “Now, what did the results tell you?”

“Yes, as I mentioned, the resonance. The veil is like… a music, a hum. It swings. But the frequency seems to have changed, or change over time, which is of course to be expected. What I didn’t expect was the way the rate of recurrence adjusts.”

He feeds her another piece of cake, and her hand grips him firmer, pushing his foreskin down for every stroke. He can feel the heat rise in his cheeks, but what he discovered was interesting, and he focuses on the explanation as he goes on, moving the empty glasses next to a spoon, a fork, to illustrate his point.

Iwyn listens attentively, but her hand doesn’t stop. She traces her fingers around the head of his cock, and presses her thumb to the slit, catching a bit of moisture already there.

He feeds her more cake, and then she lifts her hand from his pants, and he feels bereft. She sucks her thumb into her mouth.

“Delicious,” she says and closes her eyes briefly. He stifles a groan deep in his throat. “I think I understand what you’re saying, but I do have a few questions?” Her hand is back under the table, hovering, not touching. He exhales sharply, willing himself not to lift his hips eagerly.

“Yes, please?” he gestures to the table and the alignment of the silverware meant to represent the cascading ripples. Her hand falls back, delivering instant friction. He bites the inside of his cheek, he knows how this will end, but it doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try, keeping up his end of the game.

“… or is what you mean that the magic use itself…” and her mind is sharp and the question makes sense, he is sure, except he can’t seem to focus on anything other than her touch, which is faster now, it is hardly fair, she only looks flushed from the wine, her voice level. It is all he can do not to move into her, to shout.

“…within the fade?”

“Yes,” he grinds out. He is almost gone, but then her hand move to his balls, a respite, or perhaps a frustration.

“Which one of the interpretations is correct? It was a question, _ma lath_.”

He almost expects a twist of her hand in rebuke, and the anticipation of the sting nearly makes him finish, but all she does is lightly scrape her nails against his perineum. He has lost all semblance of control, and feeling abashed he hides his face in her shoulder.  

“I am afraid… I did not hear the question properly,” he admits, his lips moving against her skin.

“I see. We better finish this... conversation.” Her voice is colored with amusement and love in equal measure.

“Please,” and he is not too proud to repeat himself. “Please. I need…”

Then her hand is back on his cock, moving firmly and rapidly, and she twists her head and kisses him, the taste of caramel and her and chocolate exploding in his mouth, while she swallows the moan he lets out as he finally, finally lets go, coming completely apart for her.

His rests his head on her shoulder, and his arms have moved up to hug her. They are still for a little while, the lanterns and table and the minstrel playing all exists outside of them, as if they are separated from the world by a barrier.

She holds him until he is no longer trembling, and then she straightens and nudges a napkin into his lap, gently cleaning him and her own fingers.

“So, do you admit your defeat, my love?” Her face is lit with a grin, the green light of the lantern reflecting in her green eyes, a sea for him to drown in.

“I do,” and it is a surrender he will gladly offer, again and again, for he has already won more than he ever deserved, gained what he thought forever out of his reach. “What spoils do the victor claim?”

“We have the whole night to find out.”

He laughs and kisses her again.


	6. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This piece takes place about 10 years after Trespasser. Solas and Iwyn are reunited, married, with kids But trouble looms on the horizon, and they (for reasons) have to get as much help as they can, including help from various clans in Thedas. This can be considered a smutty outtake from my yet-to-be-written Solavellan future fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a kinktober 2017 prompt: Role Reversal. Originally published 3/28/2018.  
> For this chapter: spanking, light restraints, oral, vaginal fingering, dom Solas, service topping?

As soon as they are alone, Iwyn sits on the bed, shoulders slumped. She wipes her face with her hand and sighs, letting her head rest in her palm. She wants to be done with these negotiations, she wants to leave this clan and its stubborn Keeper; tell her brother to go convince them. Clan Naena is more traditional than they expected, and she curses their miscalculation. Traditional, but not reclusive, and of course they had more questions than they could easily answer. She had thought this would be an easy trip, but she should not have listened to rumors. She misses the kids, even knowing they are safe with her parents. She misses her home.

Solas turns to the entrance of the sturdy tent they have been offered and murmurs a quiet spell. At least they were not turned out in the cold. The dwelling is warm and dry, with wooden chairs and a large bed.

“We should have privacy now, _vhenan_.”

“Good.” She is in no mood to discuss the fall-out of their talks, in no mood to go over their failures. Solas removes his overcoat, then he turns to her and smiles softly. He doesn’t sit, he doesn’t talk strategy. He simply takes two steps to stand in front of her, kneels, and starts unlacing her boots.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says.

It is not what she wants today. Solas looks up at her, question in his eyes. She doesn’t want him on his knees, not today. She is tired of being strong, of asserting her leadership and showing her force.  She knows why Solas has to stand meekly in the background, and right now she hates it.  

He rests his hands on her knees, waiting.

“What do you want, _vhenan_?”

“I want… I want to not think. To stop worrying about this whole thing, to not make any decisions. I want you to take charge. Make me think only of you.”

Solas lifts one hand to hers, where her head still rests, and he lifts her fingers from her cheek until she lets go. He slides his hand underneath her chin, and he tilts her head up so she looks him in the eyes.

“Tell me what else you need,” he says, knowing her. His voice has dropped to a deep timbre, his eyes intent, seeing all of her.

She hesitates. They are in a foreign place, but they are alone, behind wards. She trusts his magic and she trusts him. She wants more than just lying back, she wants her every nerve to burn, and they know each other too well for any shame. “I’d like you to restrain me. Spank me. If you want to.” Her ears still warm at her request.

“I can do that,” he says, and he stands.

He draws himself up, and he seems bigger, more, than before. She forgets how small he makes himself, here with the Dalish. Less, somehow, even than a wandering apostate. In the Inquisition he was surrounded by some of the most capable people of Thedas, and he did not have to hide his power, only his purpose. Today it was opposite, and she is pleased to see it the illusion gone.

Solas is stern now, his hands clasped behind his back, looking her up and down. He sits in a chair and crosses his legs.

“Undress,” he says, his words a heavy command. Heat unfurls in her belly, her troubles already half forgotten.

She stands and begins with her trousers, then her leather bracers, her overcoat and her blouse. She struggles a bit, she has long since gotten used to having only one arm, but most days he helps her. Today he watches, patiently, from his chair, and her cheeks burn.

She finally stands nude before him, and she curbs her desire to hide herself. She is not shy, and she is not shy for him. But she is naked, and he is not. Her arm drops to her side, and she waits while his eyes slide over her body.

“You look beautiful, _vhenan_. Come here.”

She goes to him, and she sits in his lap when he pats his leg. He turns her sideways, his hands warm and familiar. He holds her close.

“I’ll give you what you need,” he mumbles into her hair. Then he tangles his hand in it, and pulls her head gently backwards. She yields, easily, letting him position her the way he wants. He kisses her, tasting her, while running his other hand over her stomach and her breasts. She has already forgotten where they are, she feels consumed here, in his arms. She focuses on the feel of his tongue in her mouth, his grip on her, his clothes against her naked skin.

He pushes her arm behind her back, his grip firm.

“I am going to use magic,” he says, and it is her chance to object, but she doesn’t. She breathes through her nose, and lets go of the control she usually wields.

When she says nothing, his hand smooth over hers, and she can feel his magic touching her skin. It moves up her back and around the stump of her left arm, anchoring them together and against her back. It feels curious, soft, giving enough that is isn’t uncomfortable, but firm enough that her nipples tense and heat pools between her legs. The hand he had tangled in her hair now rests briefly on her neck. She wonders if she can get him to use this magic on himself, at another time, but before she can dwell on it, the world turns. Solas has flipped her, lifting her legs and pushing on her back. She now rests across his lap, her head and legs dangling, her ass turned up. She wiggles against the fabric of his trousers, finding her balance.

His left hand slides down her back, and she can feel a thrum of his magic as his hand moves past it, resting at the small of her back. His other hand caresses her ass, warming her flesh. She knows what’s coming, but she still yelps in surprise when he lays two quick swats on her bottom. He repeats, and it stings now. She feels unbalanced, but his other hand supports her. She is not going anywhere. He caresses her again, and squeezes her ass, and she imagines the pleased smirk on his face. She wiggles her butt, and it earns her a few more slaps, harder this time. She tries to swallow her cries.

“You can be loud, _vhenan_ ,” he says, his voice far to even for her liking. “I have set wards.”

He slaps her again, and again she attempts to be silent, focusing on the sting on her ass and controlling her voice, her thoughts narrowed to that task alone, and not the frustrations of the day’s events. Solas seems to take her attempt at silence as the challenge it is, and his hand falls faster now. She knows her skin must be red, flushed, and her arousal is slick between her legs. She can still feel the burn as he pauses to caress her, every nerve sensitive from his actions. She relaxes into him, but the minute she does, he spanks her again. She can no longer be silent. She cries out, one leg jerking up as she strains against the bonds. HIs other hand grounds her and prevents her from sliding to the ground.

 “Spread your legs,” he says, and she obeys. He dips his hand between her legs, running through her damp curls, teasing her slit. She moans, and he smacks her again at the top thighs. This time she is loud.

“That is better, _ma lath_. Let it all out.”

He smacks her lightly a few more times, and she trashes and moans and she wants his hand back between her legs.

 “Very good,” he says, after her last groan, unrestrained pulled from her lips. “Come here.”

He rights her, and seats her in his lap facing outward. Her arms are awkwardly stuck between them, and he arranges her legs to the outside of his. He holds one hand on her chest, pushing her back against him. She is naked and he is still fully dressed, his shirt and belt rough against her sore bottom. The contrast and discomfort makes her squirm with need.  He is not unaffected, his erection hotly pressed against her.

He moves his legs to spread hers too, and she feels vulnerable, naked and open, but his hand on her chest holds her, she is contained by his large frame, secure. The feelings of exposure and safety wars within her, until he cups her sex and all she can think of is for him to move his hand closer.

He strokes her, finds her wetness and her clit, then her entrance. She soaks him, and she throws back her head and moans. She is unashamed, held and open and his. She wants, and she has. She moves herself against him, moaning and shuddering when he tender ass grinds against him, trying to take his fingers deeper inside of her, to push against the thumb that rests on her clit. Her arms are still stuck behind her, and the slight discomfort makes everything feel more intense.

“Please, I want. I need. I am going to…” She is close, and he is still dressed, and his other hand is teasing her nipples.

“Let go,” he says, like she tells him so often, “come for me.” He presses harder on her clit and she does, her orgasm running through her in jolts of intense pleasure. She would have collapsed had he not held her close.

Her body is liquid, slumped against him as he gathers her in his arms. He stands, and he puts her on the bed. “Thank you,” she says, but she realizes she still can’t move her arms.

“I am not done with you yet, _vhenan_.” He smirks at her, and then he removes his shirt, his footwarps. She can’t do anything but wait, yet she wants to reach for him, she wants to pull him down to her. She misses his heat already.

When he is naked but for his pants, she leans and kiss him when he is close enough. His hardness is straining in his pants, and she can’t use her hand. She plants kisses on his stomach, while he gently caresses her face. As her mouth moves lower, he stops her, his hand underneath her chin. He tilts up her face.

“Not now. Tonight, I will take care of you. I will have you come, again and again, until you cannot take it anymore. Then I will fuck you.”

She feels the heat in her face at his words. She can’t help pressing one more kiss to his stomach, relishing in the taste of his skin. She is far too used to make him tremble for her.

“Sorry,” she says, and she is hardly sorry at all, his skin soft and inviting.

Solas makes a small sound of disapproval, then he shakes his head and bends down to kiss her. He grabs her shoulders and pushes her back. She lets out a surprised sound as her ass slides across the rough fabric on the bed. His hands are warm on her shoulders, and she forgets the burn when he kisses her again. He moves her arms, his magic sticky around them, and she is gently pressed back into the bed, her arms stretched above her. The magic is still there, invisible strands securing her. Solas hovers above her, pausing a moment, giving her time to say their word, to pause or stop him. He knows she does not let go of control so easily even if she has asked for it. Her heart expands in her chest, a thousand burning wings of love.

“You made a promise,” she says with a smile.

He laughs a little, and then he kisses the corner of her mouth, her jaw. He presses kisses to her neck, her collarbones, between her breasts. She arches her back, her sore bottom be damned, she wants him closer. She is not disappointed, his kisses reach her breasts, sucking and licking her nipples. She wraps her legs around him to pull him close, to feel him press against her. He allows it, for a while.

He pinches her nipples and she thrashes and moans and grinds against him. He sits up and unwraps her legs from where they fold around him. He moves back, and runs his hands over her legs, up the inside of her thighs. Despite her earlier orgasm, she is already throbbing again, her sex wet and ready.

“Take off your pants and fuck me,” she says.

“No.”

He places his hands on her thighs, big and heavy. He spreads her legs wider apart.

“Do I have to restrain your legs too?” he asks.

She considers her own impatience; how much she wants to lift herself and bring them together.

“Yes.”

It is an admission of her desire and her surrender, of the wonder of their love. They have each other, a safe home away from home. His magic washes over her, warmth on her ankles. It pulls, leaving her spread out at his mercy. He looks at her, gently running his hands over her skin, but not where she wants them. He appears lost, his eyes unfocused, but then he sees her. He holds her gaze.

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” he says.

He puts his head between her legs. He kisses the inside of her thighs. He kisses her stomach, just above her curls. He moves one hand under her ass, and she hisses when he touches her tender skin. He lifts her slightly, and then his tongue is right where she wants it, licking her slit, her clit. She gasps and writhes, as much as she can under his restraints. He uses his other hand to spread her folds, to gain access. He sucks her, he pushes his tongue inside her cunt. She is so close to coming again, and he is focused, relentless. She is lost to the sensation, all she feels is a wave waiting to break, the need for release.

Suddenly it is there, waves of pleasure that he draws from her. She thinks she yells his name, but it may be broken noise from her lips. She strains and moves against him, but she is still stuck, held in place for him to feast upon.

He does not stop. He is not gentle with his mouth. He licks her oversensitive clit, then he laps the juices from her entrance. She is floating, drowned in her own pleasure.

 “You taste so good, _vhenan_ ,” he says.  “I should keep you here forever.”

She shudders, and groans.

“Please,” she says.

His tongue teases her before he replies. “Please what? Tell me.” He smiles and he goes back, and she shakes all over again. It doesn’t feel like another orgasm precisely, but it is as if it never stopped, as if she hovers beyond the edge for far too long. Her whole body it is on fire, and her instinct is to move, to buck away as much as the magic rope allows. She can’t. His hands are firm against the inside of her thighs, pressing her hips down, holding her still under him.

It’s too much.

“Please,” she says again, halfway between a sob and a moan. “I can’t… I need...”

He slows, and she can draw a breath, her heart still racing in her chest. He presses the flat of his tongue against her clit, and her insides clench, sudden clarity of what she wants.

“Inside,” she manages to get out. “I need you inside of me.”

Solas lifts his head and smiles. He turns her over, places her ass up, her cunt open and ready. He runs his hands over her legs, spreads her out. He teasingly put a single finger inside of her, and it is not enough. She wants it all.

“So ready for me,” he says, and then his hands are no longer on her. She is naked and waiting, dripping, needing him. The rustle of fabric tells her he finally removed his pants.

When he returns, he does not enter her. He pauses. He does not touch her. She is worn out and worked up and she needs him, yet his cock is barely is touching her, rubbing lightly against her overworked clit.

“Fuck me,” she growls.

He delivers a hard blow to her ass, and she yelps.

“You should ask nicely,” he says. He voice is hard, but she can hear the humor beneath it.

“Fuck me now, fuck me!”

He lands a blow to her other cheeks, and then another.

“Apologize.” Smack. “Beg.” Smack, smack, smack.

She screams, and she tries to move, forward away from him, or backwards into from him, anywhere, something, but she can’t.

“Please, sorry, please, fuck me.” She has to relent. She needs him inside of her.

“That is is better.” His hands pet her, he kisses her back, butterflies on her spine.

“Please,” she whines again, and then he finally, finally enters her, long and hard, thrusting deep inside of her, filling her up. She moans, and she pushes back against him. Everything is oversensitive, but she wants more. She needs it, and he knows. She is swollen and slick and just a little tender from his earlier attention, but she loves the burn as her cunt stretches around him. It feels so good, to be finally filled, to have him inside of her as he moans above her.

Solas moves with deep, long strokes, and his hands are on her shoulders, her back, her ass. He mumbles into her ear, his voice deep and sweet. She is too far gone to understand. She lets herself float away, moaning under him. He fucks her, harder, and he leans over her and covers her, warm and large against her. She is protected and safe and his. It feels like home, and when he tells her to come again, she does, waves of light rippling through her, as he wrings the last bits of pleasure from her body. Solas grunts and he comes too, deep inside of her, wrapped around her.

After, they are still entwined. The magic he used to bind her is gone, it is just his body holding her. She twists and kisses him. She doesn’t care about the mess.

“Good?” he asks. His smirk tells her he already knows.

“Very,” she says, and she kisses him again. It is no hardship to appreciate him. “Thank you. It was perfect.” She is lazy and heavy and warm, and she tucks herself under his chin.

“Any time. I did enjoy myself quite a bit.” Solas kisses her hair and she knows he is smiling, his love in ribbons around her. His hands slide down her back and she sucks in a breath when his hands skim over her bruised bottom.

 “I can heal this,” he says, and his hands stay.

“No. I’d like to feel it tomorrow. It might prove a good distraction.”

Solas chuckles, and then he finds the blanket to pull over them both. “I might envy you your distraction.”

It is her turn to laugh, a sleepy bubbling joy in her chest. “If you ask nicely, I could return the favor, _ma lath_. Tomorrow.” She stifles a yawn.

“I’ll look forward to it, _vhenan_.”

She buries herself in the blanket, and in their love.

 


End file.
